


A Couple of Franco/Rogen fics

by lexyhamilton (ohheichoumyheichou)



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohheichoumyheichou/pseuds/lexyhamilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote fic about these two back in 2008, when they enthralled me with their chemistry in Pineapple Express.<br/>So, back when they were just embarking on their homoerotic life journey.  Never did I envision just how far they'd go to slash themselves in the subsequent seven years.<br/>These fics depict but a pale shadow of their current real life levels of intense bromance.<br/>I'm not even disclaiming that the events in these fics never happened, because I think Seth and James wish they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promo Tour

Franco's so quiet all the time that Seth begins to wonder if maybe, possibly he's just really annoyed with him by now. They've been jetting together for a couple of days doing promo work for _Pineapple_ , and as smiley and seemingly open as he is on camera or on tape recorder with all those interviewers, he's one stern-faced, taciturn motherfucker when they're alone in hotel rooms. Danny and David usually shack up together, being film school buddies and all, and Judd-- who didn't bother getting them funding to all get separate rooms-- of course doesn't even come with them because he's a family man. So it's Seth and Franco all the time, or Seth and James, except for some reason James sounds inordinately formal-- because you apparently can't call him Jim or Jimmy, and he doesn't look like a Jimmy, he looks most like 'Franco' and that's what he is in Seth's mind, even if on set Seth makes a conscious effort to sometimes use 'James'. So it's him and Franco in hotel rooms for a few days now, and Seth's suspecting that he's annoying the shit out of his roommate this whole time. Not that that makes him any less chatty-- he kind of wants a reaction from Franco, of any kind, at this point.

They're in Ireland, just flew in, and they have to get up at some ungodly hour tomorrow before taking a plane again in the afternoon, and should probably go to bed, but Franco's reading on his bed, some pompous tome for 'class'. Seth wants to grab it out of his hands and fling it in the little plastic garbage pail in their hotel room, just for shits and giggles, and he would, probably, if it were almost anyone else, but Franco's sort of intimidating, fixated and intense as if he's boring holes in the pages. Seth tries to watch TV, but Franco makes him antsy somehow, one-on-one like this.

Probably because he's a celeb. A true celeb, who gets recognized on the street, and has fangirls posting shitty photomontages of him set to Justin Timberlake, and has a chance at Oscar noms maybe in the future. He should totally do a holocaust flick or something. Seth likes that Franco's part Jewish, though it's not clear to him why. Maybe because in some sense it means he's distantly related to someone hot and desirable, and that by extension makes him more hot and desirable?

"Hey look, it's your movie!" Seth exclaims when he sees _Tristan + Isolde_ pop up on Showtime.

Franco actually looks up from his text. Is he going to do that 'turn that shit off right now' thing that famous actors do? But no, he actually watches it for a few minutes, facial expression pretty unreadable.

Finally he sighs and says "I sucked so bad in that film," but without pretension, it's very point-blank, and Seth's a little taken aback because it sounds painfully sincere.

"Well, honestly, that script sucked balls. I don't know how much you could have done with it."

Franco smiles that weird little smile... not a toothy grin for paparazzi at premieres but a small, self-satisfied little smirk, where it looks like it comes out against his will. "You watched _Tristan + Isolde_?"

"Yeah..." Seth says.

"What about your whole philosophy, about not being in movies that you wouldn't watch?"

"Well, I'm not violating that at all. I watched _Tristan + Isolde_ , and, you know, by God, I probably would act in it if they had asked."

"Yeah right," Franco says, cigarette- and coffee-stained teeth finally showing through that sharply triangular mouth.

"Okay, yeah, it sucked. As I said. But I watched it because you were in it."

Franco turns to look at him again. "That sounds even worse."

"What, I'm not allowed to be your fanboy?"

Franco actually throws his head back and laughs, putting his book face down on his chest so that it bounces with each hoarse gasp, and Seth is not about to give up this window of openness.

"Yeah, I watched it. With a girl, and I actually got laid that night, probably because I kept bragging about having worked with you. Yeah, it had like 30 minutes of closeups of your chest or something, but I watched it."

"You like that, huh?" Franco asks, still smiling, but his whole face and body language looking suddenly very 'bedroom'. He walks over to Seth and actually straddles him, and Seth's mind is racing, because... is this all a joke? And he's not entirely sure he likes Franco _that_ way, except the sum total of all those thoughts turns into an erection against his jeans. Franco's wearing cologne, which Seth noticed earlier in the elevator, but now it's all around him, mixed with cigarette stench and that ever-so-slight jetlag body odor, making him feel light-headed.

Seth hears himself laugh in that rat-a-tat way, and hopes his nerves aren't showing through. "Are you still researching?" I thought you were done with _Milk_."

"You know all my movies or something?" Franco actually grinds his crotch into Seth's torso. This is starting to feel serious. Seth looks down at those Acne skinny jeans, looking like they're going to tear across Franco's quads as he grinds into him.

"You haven't made _that_... many..." Seth's voice is getting uncharacteristically hoarse.

"More than you have."

"That's not a good benchmark. And I'm younger."

"Am I robbing the cradle?"

"'Rob' implies someone wants me around..." Seth is still flailing around in his brain for jokes but is aware that he's progressively less able to form complete sentences. Does this count as fucking a celebrity? Franco is most definitely on top of him, pretty inarguably dryhumping him, his ass on Seth's thighs one moment, his crotch pressing into Seth under the bellybutton the next one. Frottage, Seth thinks. Frottage with Franco. Sounds like the name of a morning talk show. Frottage in _private_ must count as some sort of fucking.

"Mmph," Franco moans quietly through his nose, as if to remove any doubt about whether they're really fucking or not, squeezing his eyes shut, tendons in his cheeks doing weird spasms, looking for all the world like he's in pain. Seth stares at him, and also stares past his head at the TV screen where it's the same face making sad googly eyes at Isolde in hi-def.

Franco comes, and honestly it's not all that pretty to watch-- because that's what Seth is doing, mostly just watching. He's turned on, sure, but it's too much of a mindfuck that this is happening at all, and he kind of doesn't want to miss any of it. So Franco comes, full of grimaces, and neck tendons in stark relief, and afterwards it's all sleepy eyes and lopsided unphotogenic grins. He presses his forehead head against Seth's, presses noses too, and Seth wonders if a kiss is coming, but it never does. Franco just keeps panting, slowing down, licking his lips. Seth sticks his hand under Franco's buttoned shirt, runs his fingertips across a hairless chest.

"Didn't know you were so starved for sex," Seth says, regretting it even as he's saying it-- why does he sound like such an asshole when he doesn't even mean to?

Franco starts laughing, and Seth's eyes are only inches from Franco's, so he sees a million crow's feet erupt around Franco's eyes. He reaches around slowly and squeezes Franco's ass. Franco doesn't seem to mind. The whole situation is very weird-- the sex was almost like a fratparty hazing event or something, and Seth couldn't even be sure that it really happened were it not for a visible damp spot starting to form on Franco's crotch.

"So what." Seth says, unable to keep silent for long, and Franco doesn't seem like he's going to start talking. "Is your girlfriend like a total beard or...?"

Franco looks down, smirking. "We fuck, if that's what you're asking. I like her."

"So, like, do you actually take off your jeans for her?"

Franco laughs.

"I just wanna like tell everybody now. Holy shit. You're by far the most attractive person I've fucked. Or will fuck, ever, probably."

Franco's smirking. "Go ahead."

"I wanna be like I HAVE FUCKED FRANCO MORE THAN SEAN PENN HAS, BITCHES."

"Big talk, small moves."

"Well, sorry. I'm not into creaming my jeans."

"Don't knock it before you try it."

"You have a jean fetish or something?" Seth laughs, wondering if he's crossing the line from ribbing to insulting.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe." Franco talks with this constant smirk and Seth can't tell if he's sarcastic or not.

"Well, yours are like skintight. Maybe that's why it works. Why do you wear that sort of stuff anyway-- it makes you look like such a ponce."

"Maybe I am a ponce." 

These short, imitative answers are driving Seth crazy. Franco clambers off of him and walks over to the mirror over the low dresser, peering into it. Seth walks up behind him, unzipping his own jeans and dryhumping Franco from behind. Franco doesn't protest, maybe even bends down into it, and Seth grabs him by the front of his crotch, jeans damp against his palm. He comes, burying his face between Franco's shoulderblades to muffle the sound, hips trying to ram Franco's firm, metro ass.

"Is this what they teach you at Columbia?" Seth finally says when he's recovered his breath a bit. He's embarrassed that he's sweating buckets, and literally sweating onto Franco's back. "Like, there's the Princeton rub or Harvard-style? Get your two-bit costar to rub against you through denim?"

"Something like that."

***

They sit eating the crappy complimentary hotel breakfast as if nothing happened, Seth marvels. James is just having a huge cup coffee, looking sleep-deprived and generally unexcited. Danny and David join them, and they head off to do interviews. Seth does most of the talking, and wonders if Franco's knees occasionally touch his on purpose or not.


	2. Californiasick

Franco comes to the SNL afterparty, being local and all. _Doesn't he have better shit to do? Gradschool studying and all that?_ Seth thinks as he gives him an awkward hug, trying hard to remember all the good times they had filming together and not remembering one weird, tired night in an Irish hotel room.

"You look great." Franco's soft, drowsy voice somehow mumbles itself past a toothy grin, between-filming cigarette stains bleached off again. What's he doing these days? That Allen Ginsberg thing? Allen Ginsberg probably had stained enamel.

"You too, you too," Seth rushes to say, slapping him on the shoulder, intent on overcoming discomfort with touching Franco, even though it makes him shiver a little.

They don't bump into each other too many times again at the party. At one point he's standing around with Franco and Ed Norton, though. Ed fucking Norton! Who has intelligent things to say, and _Fight Club_ and _American History X_ credits to his name, and all Seth can think about as he's staring at Ed Norton and trying to make conversation between gulps of martini is how perpetually, well-meaningly bored Franco looks out of the corner of his eye.

It's when the party begins to break up-- when it's already the SNL castmembers who are beginning to excuse themselves and go home-- that things get a little weird.

"You wanna check out my new digs here?" Franco suddenly sprouts on Seth out of nowhere, as they stand side by side waving good bye to people. There's a whiff of alcohol on his breath, and Seth is fully aware of how weird the invitation is, and is wondering if 'digs' is so ancient that it's cool again or maybe Franco's just a little tipsy. But this is all silent, what he says out loud is some vague acquiescence, and soon he's standing in the street, shivering in the chill April night as he watches Franco hail a cab a little drunkenly, waving both arms which is probably unnecessary.

They slump down in the backseat, and Franco gives an address on the Upper West Side, and Seth half-expects Franco to start groping him or something-- half-expects or half-anticipates? Seth questions himself-- but nothing of the sort seems to be on the agenda. Franco leans against the glass and stares out into the dark streets. Maybe he really just has a sweet-ass plasma screen or a minibar or something that he feels compelled to share?

Suddenly Franco turns away from sightseeing, pressing his hand against the window as if he can block it all out. "You know what? I'm so sick of this place. So sick. I mean, who gets sick of New York, right?" There's a feeble laugh from Franco, the air filling with sour martini.

"I dunno, I mean, I wouldn't want to live here. I feel like everyone I know is over in LA, so it'd be weird."

Franco stares at him with a strange expression. It's an awkward silence.

Seth feels compelled to say something instead of staring back into those glossy eyes. "I mean, what are you doing here, man? MoMA exhibit, really? Although when I heard that I imagined something worse. Like maybe you, naked on a pedestal covered in gold dust or something." Whoa, where did that come from. Random homoerotic visions need not be shared. But Franco didn't even flinch. "Like, moving sculpture shit."

Franco laughs. "That's not modern, that's like neoclassical shit." He's slurring words.

"Okay, you would stand there cubismically. I don't know. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

Franco shrugs, those hypermobile eyebrows arching up as he closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose, looking supremely tired. Seth stares at a little roll of flesh visible over the waist of his dressy jeans. Is that the most half-assed commitment to looking like Ginsberg there ever was, or just the inevitable result of unhealthy New York living? And has dieting turded up Seth's brains enough that he would even notice something like that?

Franco opens his eyes and seems to have caught Seth staring at the vicinity of his crotch. "I don't know. I'm not homesick, just like..." and never bothers to finish his sentence, staring back out the window. 

"Californiasick."

"Yeah!" Franco turns back and grins. He bangs the seat in front of him, asking to be let out right _here_ , and they climb out and head through a fancy lobby with a judgmental-looking concierge. The fluorescent light in the elevator is not flattering, and Franco's face looks so much older and more fatigued than Seth remembers him from less than a year ago.

"Whoa, two bedroom!" Seth looks around the penthouse apartment.

"You want coffee?" Franco says, suddenly growing much more physically intimate, hands lingering strangely as he takes off Seth's coat for him.

"Uh, no thanks. It's like 4 am, man. But really, how much does this thing cost per month? Because you're like _on_ Central Park." He peers out the window at the sea of lights you can see from the 30-somethingth floor.

Franco smiles and pours himself a cold cup of leftover coffee from the Kitchenaid pot. "Why, are you thinking about moving in?" Seth feels his stomach turn when he watches Franco take a sip of something that must taste like lukewarm laundrywater by now, but then Franco puts the mug down and pushes Seth to sit on the wide windowsill, and sits down sidesaddle across Seth's thighs and begins frenching the hell out of Seth's mouth, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt without losing lip contact, his large wide hands returning to cup Seth's face, finally tugging at the hems of Seth's several shirts, but Seth isn't about to throw his arms up and let Franco pull them off-- he just sits stupefied, even though he saw it coming a mile away this time. He knows Franco isn't any kind of movie icon, not even an unequivocally successful actor, but he just seemed so effortlessly cool and gorgeous and _experienced_ when they first met, and now it all comes rushing back because Franco knows what the fuck he's doing, and is just so assured and blase that anything and everything seems like the most natural thing in the world, a foregone conclusion. 

Franco unzips their flies and initiates mutual handjobs, pressing his face down into Seth's shoulder, panting hot little gasps against it, his unoccupied hand tangling itself in Seth's hair and pulling hard from time to time. Seth just tries to keep up with Franco's furious jacking off pace, dreading major dickburn, wondering what that second bedroom is for, mind wandering even as he starts to thrust feebly despite Franco's weight on his lap. Seth comes first, spraying the side of Franco's torso, and he feels like all he would ever want to do now is lie down and sleep it off, but he tries to keep up the pace until Franco's body jerks.

They breathe hard against each other, slumping against the window.

"This glass better not like fall out from me leaning on it--" Seth mutters, wondering if he should insist on moving before Franco decides to fall asleep against him.

They shuffle into Franco's bedroom, lying down on top of the covers, breathing already slowing down, cocks still dangling out of relatively expensive pants.

"You should know..." Seth can't stand prolonged silences. "Your dick is just like they described it on that one site. Celebritypenis.org or whatever. It's uncanny. Must have been an ex of yours who submitted it."

"Dot org? This is a nonprofit?"

"I should hope it's nonprofit."

"Why the fuck are you browsing that?" A hoarse smoker's laugh rises up from deep in Franco's chest as he says it.

"That's how I decide to cast people. That's my input as a producer." 

Franco shoves Seth's face away and one of his fingers sort of slips into Seth's nose as he does it.

"Look, I should go, man. I need to check out of the hotel I haven't slept in by 11 am or some shit like that. That's in less than six hours by now."

"It's fucking Sunday."

"Yeah, I have a flight to catch. Nevertheless."

"Okay, _Seth_."

"Okay, _James_."

Seth gets up and starts collecting his clothes, strewn around the floor, mostly near the window.

"Let me just jot you down directions to tell the taxi."

"I don't think-" Seth doesn't continue saying he doesn't need it. For all he knows, NYC has got its own weird secret non-tourist code that you have to use if you want to get anywhere. Franco stuffs the paper in Seth's back trouser pocket as he's leaving out the door, managing a little ass squeeze before Seth moves into the hallway.

Seth looks at the note only when he's already on the street, trying to hail a cab. It's a Post-It scrawled in assertively ugly, male handwriting, sort of belying what BS-y pretentious tweeness it's supposed to convey.

_SHORT STORY FOR YOU:  
A little thin ray of California sunshine visited me today._

"This is what they teach you to do for these creative writing MFA's?" Seth scoffs into his cell once he's secured a ride.

"No, too much plot." Click.

Seth smiles and kind of wishes he hadn't impulsively chucked the note into the garbage while waiting for a cab to show up.


End file.
